


Once Upon A Dream

by strawberrydaifuku



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art, Dandelions, Dreams, Dreamscapes, Dreamsharing, F/M, Jigsaw Puzzles, Once Upon a Dream (Sleeping Beauty Song), Puzzles, Violins, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-22 20:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17066768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrydaifuku/pseuds/strawberrydaifuku
Summary: I know him, I walked with him once upon a dream.





	Once Upon A Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReverberatingEchoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReverberatingEchoes/gifts).



> Soundtrack: [I Draw](https://youtu.be/mEwWyhSuEco)

_"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."_  
― Edgar Allan Poe, _A Dream Within A Dream_

 

I know him, I walked with him once upon a dream.

I have always believed that only a fine line set dreams and reality apart. It was in the midst of slumber that it was most difficult to distinguish what was real and what wasn't.

But at that time, I knew I was in a dream.

In the middle of a glade in a forest, I stood surrounded by different kinds of trees. The sunlight filled the gaps of the leaves that covered the branches and its yellow glow overlaid the short blades of the grass. This place reminded me of Namiseom in the summer, only it wasn't crowded and even a tenfold more beautiful.

The pathway seemed to never end and I began to wander around without a clear destination in mind. As I went further, there was an unexpected sight of a picnic table in the middle of the empty forest. No one else was around and neither refreshments nor a plaid tablecloth was set on top of it.

It wasn’t until I got close enough that I realized that it wasn’t bare; scattered all over the wooden rectangle were jigsaw puzzle pieces.

I picked up the nearest piece and felt the glossy texture on one side and the plain one on the opposite. When I flipped it between my fingers, I couldn't help but flip it back in confusion.

How strange. They were both white.

I sat down. Was I supposed to solve the puzzle?

My fingers began to interlock the oddly-shaped pieces together. The fact that there was no picture, just a blank slate, made it quite difficult to assemble.

Time passed, I couldn’t be too sure how much, and I set the last puzzle piece on the jigsaw only to find the space beside it unfilled. Nothing was more frustrating than working hard to solve a puzzle only to find out it was incomplete all along. My brows furrowed in concentration as I tried to look for the missing piece. Where was it?

It was then that a voice spoke. "White puzzles… I was wondering where I left it.”

A man reached out to the table. He set the final piece on the sole empty space and completed the puzzle.

“Who are you?” No matter how much I tried to remember the response the man gave me, or if he even did, I couldn’t.

“Is this yours?” I remember that I asked him that question.

“I can’t be too sure as well.”

“Then, you have one of these?” The idea that someone owned this kind of puzzle surprised me.

He nodded. “Yes.”

Out of curiosity, I couldn’t help but voice out the question that burned in my mind, “Why is the jigsaw puzzle white?”

He paused in deep thought. “The purer something is, the easier it can be tainted with other colors.”

“What?” I didn't quite understand.

I shifted my gaze to the completed puzzle. Instead of the distinctive white fragments, there was an image of a flower depicted in it. A lotus. The unmistakable stroke of a paintbrush in the colors across the tessellated pieces made me stare in wonder.

It was unlike anything else. Strange, but beautiful.

When I looked up to the mysterious man, I realized his attention wasn’t on the painted puzzle like I had. He stared intently at the tree which stood tallest among the others.

"That tree... how rich and abundant it is... I wonder how old it is..." he whispered.

It was true. That particular tree looked so strong, as if it had withstood a lot of storms and seasons.

“Do you think a place like this exists in real life?” I asked him.

“It does,” he replied. It was then that I understood. The sadness in his eyes led me to believe that this vision, whatever this dream was, it was his. “I don’t remember it much but I guess dreams have a way of filling in the details I’ve forgotten,” he added, eyes still trained on the tree.

Thoughtful at his statement, “Right now… I am also dreaming…” I told him, all the while confused. Why was I in a vision that belonged to him?

His eyes held surprise as he looked back to where I was.  His smile was kind.

“Why don’t we take a walk around? It’s been a long time since I’ve been here too," he suggested and reached a hand out.

I couldn't explain why but I took his hand. After I stood up and reached his side, I let go. The warmth of his palm lingered, a faint sensation on my skin.

Our footsteps made a dull sound, still audible in the tranquil forest, as we walked beside each other. From time to time, I couldn’t help but steal glances at the man who kept me company. There was a gentle smile in his face. Perhaps, he was reminiscing about his memories of the place. He was calm, his movement collected. His silence told me that maybe, he was a reserved person. At one point, he noticed my glances and asked, “What is it?”

“Your hair…” I could only say response.

I remember how his hand reached to touch his turquoise locks. His eyes crinkled as he said, "So it's true.... that my hair color is... unique."

“Your eyes too.” It was true. At that moment, under the light of the sun, his turquoise irises shone brighter.

“Thank you,” he spoke with laugh and looked away, bashful.

We made small talk here and there and continued to walk around the forest. I couldn’t remember how much time passed but after a while, we stumbled upon a small field of flowers.

“This place…” I said in a whisper.

The expression in his face told me that he understood. This vision, whatever this dream was, it wasn’t just his.

I turned to him. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I come to this place a lot.”

“Yes,” he muttered as he admired the place.

“There is a big rock somewhere in the middle we can sit on,” I told him. “The view there is the best.”

We walked towards the field, careful not to step on the dandelions. My curiosity burned brighter as I wondered why my safe haven was in this vision. With each step I took, my heart began to pound faster that I felt every beat in my chest. His eyes were trained on my every move and the gentleness in his expression gave me comfort.

I stopped in my tracks when we reached the area where the rock was supposed to be. In place of it was something more familiar… No, something that was once familiar. I could only gaze at the sight in shock.

The stems of the dandelions were twisted like vines around the half-moon silhouette. It was reminiscent of how I had held it in my arms whenever it would rain and I forgot to bring an umbrella. Back then, I thought it was fine for my clothes to get soaked, or even if I catch a little cold, if it meant it would be safe.

My hands shook as I knelt down and moved closer towards it. Fingers closed in on the handle, I began to set it free from the stems that chained it. It took a few attempts until I released a deep breath I didn’t realize I was holding when I finally succeeded.

It dawned to me that I didn’t know what to do as I continued to kneel on the ground. I could only stare blankly at the sight before me.

There was a shuffling sound. The man knelt from across. I was about to apologize when he said, “Why don’t you open it?”

I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out. The past haunted me in many ways.

But in this beautiful dream… Maybe, I could be happy in a dream?

My hands began to feel steady. At that time, a bittersweet feeling washed over me as I undid the latches that sealed the fiberglass shell. It held the passion I've always had but had grown to neglect. After I set both sides on the ground, my fingers glided across the velvet interior, the texture foreign yet still familiar. I reached out to move the cloth that protected the instrument with the fear that I would find it broken the way I did a long time ago.

It wasn’t. The hollow was filled, my violin cradled safely inside it.

“You were right,” I told him, “Dreams have a way of filling in the details we’ve forgotten.”

He smiled. “I guess it is special to you.”

“It… It is.” I nodded.

“If it’s alright, may I hear you play?” he requested, his expression hopeful.

It has been long since somebody asked me that question.

As I pondered how to respond, a pair of hands held mine. The man in front of me held between his fingers a white handkerchief that was now soiled by my hands as he gently wiped them. In my struggle to free the violin case from where it was, I failed to noticed how my hands were dirtied. But now, as I gaze at the earthy contrast against his pure white cloth, I realized he was right once again with one more thing.

The purer something is, the easier it can be tainted with other colors.

He was kind. I felt I didn’t deserve his kindness.

“You don’t have to but thank you,” I told him. I wanted him know that I was grateful.

“It’s okay. I wanted to.”

When he let go of my hands, I carefully removed the bow from one side and the violin on the other. I looked over everything and in that dream, it was in perfect condition, a stark contrast to how it was supposed to be in real life. After I made sure it was tuned well, I stood up and nestled the instrument under my chin.

The man stood. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to.”

“It’s okay. I want to,” I smiled as I reassured him.

A gust of wind made the dandelion flowers dance around our feet. I closed my eyes and began to play. The melody of an old lullaby from a fairy tale I loved as a child echoed through the serenity of the forest. A surge of memories filled my senses as the bow met the strings through my movements. Instead of pushing it away, I welcomed it, reveled in it even. It was like I caught up with an old friend I haven't seen many years. The leaves rustled as they swayed with the gentle breeze and for a moment, I imagined they danced to the rhythm of the music I played.

Before I knew it, it was over. The sight of the man with his eyes closed as he exhaled a deep breath tugged at my heartstrings.

“That was beautiful,” he said and his turquoise eyes fluttered open.

“Thank you,” was the only thing I could say. I couldn’t believe the happiness that welled up inside me from what just transpired.

“Have you been playing for a long time?”

“I haven’t played in a long time.”

“But that was…” He began and trailed off in thought. “Why?”

“Because I… I’m not good enough,” I said, “I’ll never be good enough.” I bent down to move both the bow and violin to back its place and left the case open as I stood up.

“You already are,” he spoke. “I hope the day will come where you realize that.”

The sincerity in the way he looked into my eyes as he said the words I didn’t know I needed reached the depths of my heart. For the second time, there was nothing I could say but my words of gratitude and the words, “I hope so too.”

The wind blew. Some of the yellowed leaves from the distant trees rained down on us. I reached out and opened my palm to catch one and the man beside me did the same, but what his hands grasped weren’t leaves but two pieces of paper.

He looked at them both for a long time. His face was a neutral mask but from the way he stiffened and his eyes shone, there was an internal turmoil he faced.

After a moment, his voice broke the silence. “Do you… want to see them?” he said, the slight tremble in his voice betrayed his calm demeanor.

“Yes. May I?”

There was a bittersweet smile on his face as he reached for a hand on my side and put the papers on my palm. I couldn’t understand why but I felt nervous.

The first paper was an illustration from a child’s hand. The page was already yellowed and although the colors were faded, the gifted talent in the way the picture was drawn was still evident. The page depicted a detailed urban cityscape, much like Seoul. I smiled at the fact that, like any child, the sun was drawn on top of the paper, a circular figure with rays.

I moved to set the child’s drawing under the next paper and froze.

This was a work of an artist. A beautiful work that conveyed emotion with every stroke of color and yet…

A huge tear marred the artwork in the middle. From the way the edges were unevenly curved, it was intentional. The two sides barely held on together, the crumpled texture made by the two hands which tore them apart irreversible.

Droplets of tears made fresh round marks on the paper, replacing the faded ones.

“What… is this….?” I choked out a sob. “Why?”

I felt the stream of wetness on my cheeks. Why would someone do that? Why was I so sad? I wasn't sure of what I felt or what I wanted to say.

“It’s one of the things I regret the most in my life,” he shared. “I was always thinking about the future that I forgot the present.” He walked a few steps closer and said, “Please don’t cry. Don’t cry for me.”

How can someone so kind, be so broken?

“One day, I hope you can forgive yourself,” I began. “I hope you can find the courage in you to move forward and live in the present.”

A gust of wind. Yellow petals and white fluffs set adrift into the air.

“Do you think we’ll forget when we wake up?” he asked.

He was right. It was a dream. “I don’t know,” I replied in all honesty. “But I don’t want to forget,” I blinked back the tears and closed my eyes.

I felt his gentle fingers on my cheeks as he wiped the tears that managed to escape anyway.

“Who are you?” I heard him whisper.

A stillness took hold and I felt my surroundings disappear into it, until everything faded into the darkness.

I opened my eyes. I was in my bedroom, my cheeks damp and heartbeat fast. It took a few moments for my vision to focus. A glance to the window told me that dawn would break soon.

The clock was ticking. I didn’t want to forget. My blanket tossed aside, I went to the study table.

I found an old diary and flipped it open. I began to write down everything I could remember.

Trees. White puzzle pieces. Dandelions. Violin. Artworks. Him.

I tried my best to put into words the hazy image in my mind but my shaky hands could only accomplish so much. It wasn’t enough. Like my memory, my vision began to blur and more tears ran down my face in frustration.

It was then that I realized I couldn’t remember what he looked like. No matter how much I tried to, I couldn’t.

A blur of vibrant color flashed in my mind. The uniqueness in his hair and his kind eyes.

In haste, I pulled the drawer open and shuffled the things inside it for the colored pencils I had but never found the need to use. In an unlined page of the diary, I scribbled the turquoise pencil all over. The messy scrawl tainted the white page as a reminder.

From that day on, I pondered from time to time about the reality of dreams. How they could be a reflection of a person's desires. How, at times, they could even be memories of one's waking life. How some dreams recur, others forgotten. Ever since I had that dream, there was a lot for me to think about.

I didn’t have the same dream twice. Until now, I struggled to grasp for its meaning. But after that night, I began to come back to the dandelion field more than ever. When I mustered up the courage to purchase a new violin, it was in that safe haven that I played for the first time in a long time. Just like in that dream.

The happiness I felt granted me the courage to pursue my passion.

A good year passed and now, I am in an art gallery in Seoul to perform as a representative of OO School of Music. As I walk around the venue, a particular section catches my eye and I make my way towards it, having a hard time believing what I am seeing.

The first painting, taller and narrower compared to the others, was depicted as if the viewer is the one standing in the forest and looking up at the tall trees and blue summer sky.

Right beside it was a different piece. A landscape artwork of a dandelion field where a girl stands in the middle, playing the violin. Her hair and the skirt of the white dress she wore seem billowed by the wind as shades of white and yellow float all around her.

I close my eyes as I was taken back to those places. The fragments of the blurry memory of that dream click into place as the paintings fill in the details I’ve forgotten.

“It's you,” I hear a voice behind say.

A year ago, I told myself that if he exists and in any circumstance I see him, I will definitely know. I will definitely remember. At least, I hoped I will.

I turn around and gaze at the man standing before me. He is dressed in a beige coat and a black turtleneck underneath. His hair is still as unique, the gleam in his turquoise eyes still so familiar.

“Jihyun.”

I know him, I walked with him once upon a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> **⊱ ─── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ─── ⊰**
> 
>  
> 
> This work was inspired by V's CGs and spaceship reveals in Another Story.
> 
>  
> 
> **⊱ ─── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ─── ⊰**
> 
>  
> 
> **19 December 2018**  
>  First draft
> 
> **08 January 2019**  
>  Edited version


End file.
